


What Dreams May Come

by MembraneLabs



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I will go down with this ace ship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), and then you found out they don't SLEEP, lead up to sharing a bed, post not-mageddon, you think you know someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MembraneLabs/pseuds/MembraneLabs
Summary: In the end, it was the most natural decision in the world. But the funny thing about moving in with someone you’d known for 6000 years was realizing what you didn’t know about them could fill the Library of Alexandria.





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> TV-verse, even though I just re-read the book.

You see, the thing was, Crowley was never thrown down from Heaven. He heard the screams, read the writing on the wall, and snuck out the back door before anyone noticed. 

A human would make the mistake of thinking his wings had been burned black from the Fall. But they had always been black. Black like space was black, in that his wings were the color of all sorts of spectrum waves that no mortal eye could perceive. 

Birds could get a pretty good eyeful though.  

All things considered, he got out of the whole mess relatively unscathed. All he had to show for it was a new address and the gaping, burning cold emptiness where God’s Grace had been. But that was just emotional pain, really. Sure for those down in Hell that was a problem they couldn’t escape, but on Earth you could go shoving all sorts of things into the gaping maw of Loss. 

So all things considered, Crowley felt rather well-adjusted. Oh, he still had no love for Heaven, but more in a ‘take my toys and go home’ sort of way, and not the ‘wage war against the Heavenly Host’ way the rest of Hell had gone.

Afterall, he saw what the glorious victors had done to the losers. Especially to Lucifer. 

  
The foot soldiers of God had just wanted to destroy something beautiful. 

The Rebellion had been their first crack to do so.

 

~*~

 

Aziraphale had been nowhere near the front lines when the Rebellion happened. He was created to look after earthly things, after all. Heavenly politics had always been, well, a bit over his head.

Right after it was all anyone talked about in Heaven. He was still guarding the Eastern Gate but one couldn’t help but hear things. 

(As he was bricking up the Eastern Gate, he thought it a pity he hadn’t explored more of Eden when he had the chance. But his job had been to guard the gate and he had been very keen. Maybe if he hadn’t been so keen he might have caught Cr--

Well, that didn’t bear thinking of. What was done was done.)

It was between closing up shop in Eden and being sent back down to Earth to take on his new assignment (“Minister them! Inspire them!” It was all rather vague, if he was being honest.) that he got the whole story of what had happened. 

Arizaphale wouldn’t have said Michael was proud of their work in putting down the Rebellion, but she was most definitely Satisfied. 

She was Satisfied in extremely explicit detail. 

“Now, you don’t have experience with the Fallen,” Gabriel had assured him. Arizaphale had almost said something, but he bit his tongue instead. It seemed to Aziraphale that the harm had already been done and what Gabriel didn’t know didn’t hurt  _ him _ . “But while you’re on Earth they’re going to be everywhere, trying to take down the rest of God’s creation. Don’t go easy on them. They have it coming.”

“Even after...I mean, was it entirely necessary to…” and how strange, the feeling in his chest. Like a vice. He remembered Eve after the apple, her belly already round and nothing she ate staying down. He thought of the way her body had heaved and he rather felt like doing the same at the thought of what Michael had done with her spear.  

“It's not that we enjoyed it, Aziraphale,” Michael admonished him, but there was a calm steady peace to her face that didn’t settle the rolling, awful feeling within him.

“Remember, the Fallen got what they deserved,” Gabriel said, clapping him on the shoulder, his chiseled face smiling benevolently. “Don’t let them get you, eh?”

~*~

In the end, it was the most natural decision in the world. But the funny thing about moving in with someone you’d known for 6000 years was realizing what you didn’t know about them could fill the Library of Alexandria. 

“I left the bedroom with the great big windows for you, so have fun trying to sleep through the sunrise,” Crowley had taunted over his shoulder, popping open a celebratory bottle of champagne. He poured out two glasses, put the rest on ice, and sauntered through the cottage to find his Angel.

“In here, my dear boy,” Arizaphale’s voice called from the upstairs room. “And that won’t be a problem.”

Crowley had gotten his things unpacked before Arizaphale had finished bringing the last of his boxes through the cottage door. Mona had gone up over the fireplace, and he had plans for the back garden that involved the sculptures. Aziraphale had protested about making the Wrestling one the centerpiece. 

“What if we have company over?” he had said. “Don’t you think it’s a bit...cheeky?”

“It’ll be a good conversation starter,” Crowley had replied with a grin that promised that now he was definitely going through with it. 

Now he found Aziraphale in the center of his bedroom, still unpacking his books the old-fashioned way - taking them out of the boxes one by one, checking the covers for damage before putting them on the shelf. It was going to take a lifetime.

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he saw him so happy. 

“You haven’t even gotten your bed set up yet,” Crowley said, handing him the glass. Aziraphale was torn between the large tome in his hand and taking the glass, but the champagne won - he placed the book gently on an old chaise lounge. 

Arizaphale looked at him, perplexed. “I don’t have a bed. Cheers,” he said, and he touched his glass gently to Crowley’s. 

“Wait, what? Of course you have a bed, you had that apartment above the shop--”

“Crowley, I know my space might have been a bit, well, cluttered, but I assure you I never had a bed up there.”

“You can’t possibly sleep on that... _ thing _ ,” Crowley protested, gesturing vaguely at the chaise lounge. “The springs look like they gave up the ghost in the 18th century!” 

“Crowley, I don’t sleep,” Arizaphale said, before taking a sip of the champagne. His eyes fluttered closed at the taste. “Ah, lovely,” he sighed, perfectly content. And putting the glass down he turned to get back to work as if  _ he hadn’t just said something completely mad _ . 

Crowly kicked back his own champagne so he could put the glass down. There were some conversations you just didn’t have with a full glass of bubbly in your hand. “Wait, wait, wait wait wait,” he said, “how could you not sleep? Beds, beds are brilliant! People sit up and read in them! They eat breakfast in them! You can make a nest of them on a rainy day! It’s like they were made for you, Angel!”

“Oh, Bertie was very convincing about lying about in them when the mood should strike,” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly.  Crowley tried to ignore that for Aziraphale G.K. Chesterton had always been  _ Bertie.  _ There was a lot about Aziraphale’s days in the late 19th to early 20th century Crowley was very careful to ignore. Sometimes he was even good at ignoring those things.

__ “And it’s not that I don’t have a lie down now and then,” Aziraphale continued. “Sometimes I push the chaise it into a sun beam with a book in my lap and just sort of let my mind wander. I blame Bertie for this one,” he continued with the saucy air of telling a scandalous secret, “but once, I got a long stick and a box of crayons and just sort of...doodled on the ceiling. It was no Sistine Chapel, but it was a jolly way to pass a rainy day. But they take up so much space, beds. I’m really rather set with the settee.” 

And he did the little head wiggle that tended to make Crowley lose all sense. But there were some things the head wiggle could not distract from. 

“Right, well, I’ll just...leave you to it,” Crowley said weakly. “There’s more champagne downstairs when you want it.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, already lost again to his books. 

~*~

That Aziraphale didn’t sleep wasn’t what bothered Crowley. It was that Crowley didn’t know  _ why _ . He’d be blessed if it was because Aziraphale just preferred not to. His angel had been flirting steadily with nearly all of the big Sins since he got Earth-side 6000 years ago. Sloth should have been a natural. Unlike Lust, Sloth required absolutely no work on Aziraphale’s part. 

  
Crowley loved sleep, sleep was fantastic. It was a fine way to pass the time and sometimes he’d get a good dream and that was just brilliant. He could go to bed in a sick rage over something that Heaven had pulled or Hell expected of him and wake up ready to have another go of things. New day, and all that.

Crowley was convinced - Aziraphale had just never had the opportunity. And Crowley might be retired from Hell, but there was no harm in keeping a finger in the temptation game, especially when there was nothing at stake. Aziraphale just needed a nudge in the right direction. This would be easy. Aziraphale had never turned down a pure creature comfort. Sleep was in the bag.  
  


They’d gotten into the habit of picnicking. Crowley was someone who picnicked now. He’d make sure the blanket was thick and soft and that the weather was going to be nice and Aziraphale did the rest. They’d found the perfect spot in a bit of public land no one remembered was there. There was just enough woods and just enough open meadow to feel like nothing else mattered. 

Crowley had brought a book of Sudoku - he used a pen and hated it with a zeal that made him feel alive. Aziraphale had brought reading material as well and Crowley was proud of him, though he’d never say it out loud. Aziraphale had only brought three books this time.

 As the clouds drifted through the sky, Aziraphale had gotten more and more horizontal on the blanket, lost in his book. It was distracting.

“Go on, I can't imagine it’s that comfortable, but you can prop your head here,” Crowley sighed, patting his thigh. He had his back against a tree and his long legs stretched in front of him. 

Aziraphale didn’t have to be asked twice. Crowley was still getting used to that the sly, pleased little look that flitted across Aziraphale’s face existed because of him.

Aziraphale settled his head on Crowley’s thigh. “Thank you, my dear,” he whispered, looking up with his blue eyes that were all for Crowley. A demon could covet eyes like that.  

“I was getting a crick in my neck for you,” he complained instead, but he let his hand drift down to Aziraphale’s soft curls. He could do that now. Just gently run his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair whenever he pleased. 

It did the trick - it wasn’t long before Aziraphale sighed, putting the book down on his chest. His eyes closed. “That’s lovely, thank you,” he said, settling in even more. “What a perfect day.”

“You should take a nap, that would really make it perfect,” Crowley offered, tracing the curve of his ear. 

“No, no that’s not necessary,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh, go on,” Crowley said, letting his fingers play around the gentle bend of Aziraphale’s jaw. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes. “I don’t sleep,” he said. 

“But you might enjoy it if you tried,” Crowley teased.

“No, no I don’t think I will,” Aziraphale said, suddenly sitting up. He kept his back to Crowley. And just like that, it'd gone wrong. Where the Heaven had he gone wrong? “Thank you, my dear, this has been lovely, but don’t you think we had better start heading back?”

It was the voice Aziraphale used when his suggestion was nothing of the sort. Crowley hated that voice. It was so...so….

Heavenly. 

“Fine,” Crowley said, and it came out more of a snap than a shrug. “Can’t have the day wasting away. Right.”

They packed up in silence. 

  
That hurt more than anything.

~*~

Crowley dropped the picnic basket on the kitchen counter and went straight out into the back garden as soon as they got back. 

He meant it to sting.  

Things in the garden were going fantastic. The harmful insects had long since learned this was the wrong yard to mess about in, the roses were all deadheaded, and the vegetables and herbs were still establishing themselves. There weren’t even weeds to pull. 

Crowley grabbed the shears. The hedge in the back was looking a bit square. Crowley decided right then that what the garden needed was a topiary. Something really embarrassing for whatever guests Aziraphale thought he was going to invite into Crowley’s back garden for  _ hors d'oeuvres _ . 

He was careful to look anywhere but at the Wrestling statue. Maybe putting it at the center of the garden was a mistake. Maybe a lot of things were mistakes. Maybe he was a mistake, he couldn’t stop himself, could he? Just couldn’t stop poking and prodding a good thing, no, he had to  _ know _ , and had gotten out of the habit of just  _ asking.  _

The sun had started setting by the time Aziraphale came outside. Crowley could feel him hovering over his shoulder. A contrary part within wanted to ignore him. 

  
Crowley looked over his shoulder instead. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said. He looked sad. Probably had put away all the picnic things and then had moped about the cottage. It made Crowley feel like the smallest, pettiest thing in the world. How dare Aziraphale. 

“Look, whatever it is, say it or get off the pot, this henge won’t trim itself,” Crowley said, leaning against the ladder as he gestured vaguely with the shears. 

“I used to sleep,” Aziraphale began, just as Crowley had started turning back around. He stopped. 

“Not often, but it was pleasant,” Aziraphale continued. “Under the stars, in tents. We were expected to be out and about, getting entertained by the humans so we could offer our blessing. You had to follow their lead more in those days, so you could fit in. Go unnoticed. It was part of the job. Oh those were the days, you know, I’ll never forget Sarah’s lamb, I still wish I had gotten her recipe--”

Crowley put the shears down, and slowly stepped down off the ladder. He moved closer. 

“I digress,” Aziraphale said, catching himself. “But things started to change. The home office made the push out of the Levant. And then we...well, we started The Arrangement. Agreement. Whatever we were calling it at the time. That’s when the nightmares began.”

“Yea, I’ve had some doozies of my own over the years,” Crowley finally offered when Aziraphale fell silent, desperate to lighten the air. _ ‘You wanted to know’  _ the traitor part of his consciousness whispered. Crowley hated that voice. “Not ready for a presentation, pants missing, running but not moving. I wish I knew what the one with the teeth falling out meant, used to get that one all the time.”

“Mine was always the same. Heaven would find out. About...us. And I’d Fall,” Aziraphale confessed. There was a low stone wall in this part of the garden. Aziraphale sat on it, his nervous hands in his lap. 

“I’d be summoned for a meeting with Gabriel and the others, and he’d say, ‘Aziraphale, I told you not to let them get you, this is very disappointing.’” 

His impression of Gabriel was disconcertingly spot on. It reminded Crowley just how much he hated the bugger. 

“And there was no hiding it, they knew everything, and before I could get a word in edgewise, Michael - Michael would - ”

Crowley had seen Michael’s handwork once he got downstairs. You didn’t need an imagination to figure out what Michael would do. 

“And it would all happen there, all in the bright clean white of heaven’s light, until finally they would...cut me down, and I would Fall…and fall...and...that’s when I tended to wake up.”

“I mean. Not sure what to say. I got off easy,” Crowley admitted. “I don’t tend to dream about...all that. Small mercy, I guess.”

It was firmly dusk now. Crowley got them inside. If there was one thing Crowley had learned since moving in with Aziraphale, it was how to make a cup of tea the long way, with the kettle on and everything. He never could tell the difference but Aziraphale had insisted there was one.  

“The worst part,” Aziraphale continued, once he had the tea mug in hand. “And it really was the worst part - in the nightmare I knew that God wasn’t watching. Wasn’t listening. That she didn’t even  _ know _ . That shook me more than anything else, if I must be honest.” And he gave a dry chuckle that had no humor in it. “I thought, well, that’s just blasphemy. Really, how could I think  _ that _ . What rot. 

“But that was about when I stopped sleeping. It was just...well, it’s not that I ever needed it, and The Agreement was...well it...I...I didn’t want to give it up. I still wonder. If it was maybe it was a warning from Heaven.”

Crowley couldn’t help it. His lip curled unpleasantly at that.

Aziraphale looked at him with his blue eyes, and Crowley hated the look in them, wanted to chase it away forever, kick it out and tell it to never come back around here again. “After all,” Aziraphale continued, “ _ ‘ _ _ In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.’ _ " 

“I never liked that one,” Crowley said, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a grimace, “Why'd it have to be a tragedy? They were just kids. Dumb kids, but kids.” 

“I’m sorry. I suppose it all must sound so foolish. After all, it’s not even that anything happened,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley grabbed his wrist with a quickness that startled him. 

“All that and it was sleep you gave up. Not--” But Crowley couldn’t quite get it out. 

_ Us _ .

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving them off while puttering around the cottage. It was different when Aziraphale was able to look directly into his eyes. There was nothing to hide. He could feel the fullness of it all; everything Aziraphale was feeling.

“Oh, I couldn’t have, not even if I’d wanted to,” Aziraphale confessed, covering Crowley’s hand with his own. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very honest with myself, but later on I would realize I really was very fond of you. And later than that I realized I...well, that I was rather in love with you. The Agreement was how I was able to keep seeing you. It gave me the excuse. No. No, I’d never would have been able to give that up. Staying awake was easier.”

What was Crowley supposed to do with something like that? He’d already moved into a cottage in the South Downs with Aziraphale for less. 

“You know, you could give it another go of trying to sleep. I’ve got loads of room in my bed. I’ll be there, could wake you up if you have another nightmare,” Crowley offered as he put the tea mug in the sink. 

He rushed the words “no pressure just a suggestion,” just as Aziraphale said “Oh, oh yes, thank you.”

“If you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said once the awkward pause had its fill. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, and he offered his hand. Aziraphale took it.“Bother away.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
